


Hand of God

by backintheblackimpala (DoctorandDetective)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A fuckload of Angst, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mute Castiel, Pain, There will be sex, at the beginning at least, fallen!cas, it will just take a lot of buildup, no really, trust me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorandDetective/pseuds/backintheblackimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having too much heart was always Castiel’s problem. As Castiel rebelled against God’s will to help Lucifer escape Heaven, the Creator himself punishes him with something akin to a black hole inside his chest: an unbearable pain known among the angels as the Hand of God. Cut out from Heaven, his brothers, and his own angelic powers, Castiel is thrown into the planet Earth and forced to live as a human. The former angel knows he can’t be saved, but that won’t stop Sam Winchester from trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Balthazar._

It is pointless for eternal beings such as angels to keep track of time. We have never needed to keep record of the when and where, as we have roamed the Earth since its very first days, carrying out the will of the Father of All.  
But, there is one day we all remember. The day heaven burned. How many angels fell that day is uncertain, but we felt the pain of our Father as the Morning Star fell from the skies and into the Pit. I may be a lousy chronicler, I lack the patience and the skill to build pretty phrases, and I guess God is really just making me write this down to piss me off. Maybe it is my punishment for refusing to lay a hand on one of the brothers I loved the most. Can you blame me? Aren’t we supposed to be beings full of light, of love, of justice? How can we fight each other if we are only family? I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.  
I will never understand why God made me write down his little secret, but here it is.

They say Lucifer fell. Well, technically he didn’t. Lucifer escaped Heaven of his own Free Will.  
And he didn’t go down alone. He dragged Castiel with him. And this, this is the story of the Hell it unleashed. That said figuratively, of course. Who in their right mind would do that? So, don’t get your panties in a bunch. Let’s begin.  
There wasn’t a big flash of light, not a mysterious plan or, truth be told, anything grand. It should have been a little disappointing. Except it wasn’t.  
Don’t get me wrong, the whole dynamic was off, lacking, no grand revelation, no bloody fists or faces torn by rage and betrayal…Thinking back, it was absurd.

In all His Might, He stood, casting the unavoidable Truth for all brothers and sisters to hear. There wasn’t a sound. Only a flutter of wings, an intake of breath, and blue eyes of hardened steel, as a young, little angel spoke, and in raising his voice, rebelled against our Father.

“No.”

And from that moment on, he was condemned.  
We had all heard about The Hand of God. The legendary punishment. Enough to drive any being mad: a glimpse of the mind of the Creator himself. Some say it is like a black hole, an abyss on a fingertip. This black star barely grazed Castiel’s chest and faded in his light. Nothing happened during those first seconds, but blue eyes were blown wide as the angel reached for his chest, his hand shaky and he raised his head to see God. We all knew he was there, but only Castiel could see his face, bleak with nameless, infinite pain.

And he screamed. It was the first and last scream ever heard beyond the Garden of Eden, the sound soaring, threatening to crack the very foundations of existence.

Castiel was cast into Earth by our Father himself, with his wings clipped, his halo removed and with no memory of the brother he loved more than he should. Samandriel was right: Too much heart was always Castiel’s problem. Gabriel did the only thing he could: he tampered with the course of his baby brother’s landing, making sure he would land surrounded by good men. When it was done, there was only one thing left for us to do: wait.


	2. Chapter 1

Sam was in one of the two spare rooms at Bobby’s. It never had much, just a queen bed and a desk. He used to stay here all the time with Dean when they were younger. On the wall near the desk hung his drawing of a crayon lion, still alive albeit a bit too old, the paper crinkled and weak at the corners. It was one of the rare mementos of his brief childhood, of a time when he truly believed everything that came out of Dean and Bobby’s mouth. A time long gone by now.

The rocking chair Dean used to put baby Sam to sleep was still there, gathering dust in the corner. Ironically enough, it was well taken care of: the brown, warm leather remained as soft as he remembered it. It probably was the one piece of furniture Bobby seemed to clean, even if it was once every blue moon.

The young man stretched his arms over his head, arching his back and letting out a heavy sigh. His vision had blurred for the past few minutes. Unsurprising, considering that he had been reading for a little over four hours straight. He rubbed his eyelids with the back of his hand absently, trying to repeat in his head the definition of “Nolo Contendere”. He was interrupted by a loud thud, one made unmistakably by a body hitting the ground.

It was the crash that finally got him out of his room. Out of sheer muscle memory he grabbed a gun, removing the lock swiftly and he checked the back pocket of his jeans for his vial of Holy Water. Like Father, like Son, they say. He was more worried than scared. After all, whatever landed was probably hurt, he realized so Sam opened the drawer to one of Bobby’s many first aid kits, leaving it at the ready in case it was needed. He walked towards the yard, with the gun pointed steadily forward, his steps silent.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight he found. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. And he had seen plenty. It was the body (corpse?) of a man, lying amidst ashes. The darkened shade of a halo and a huge pair of wings painted the ground as if they had been charred on the spot. His eyes were shut tight, his eyelids closed with specs of dried blood, sliding down his cheeks like tears. He kneeled beside him, bewildered, not uttering a word, and touching his face out of sheer impulse. He…(it?) was barely breathing, but the creature opened his eyes and fixed them directly on Sam’s own. He felt like choking, the look was too intense, burning its way to the very core of his soul. Sam knew, then, that whatever that creature was it was precious and it had to be protected at all costs. It felt like the voice of an angel, barely above a whisper, but it was a command he couldn’t deny. Gabriel, back in heaven, closed his eyes and smiled lightly. Sam Winchester was a good man, he was compassionate. He sat back and let out a sigh, secretly pleased with his choice for Castiel’s protector.

Seconds later Sam felt a spontaneous panic. What if he didn’t survive the fall? He laid the gun in the ground, his fingers moving gingerly over the stranger’s torso, trying to find open wounds or broken bones. Another wave of panic crashed over him. What if Dean tried to kill it? Or Bobby? He swallowed, trying to push away the thought of John finding it. Out of the three, he was by far the most close minded therefore, the most dangerous. His eyes were drawn to the ashen wings and he knew he needed them gone. Too dangerous.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean uttered, under his breath. He was dirty, stained with motor oil. He had been working on the Impala before the crash. Confusion shot up his veins, with added adrenaline. What the hell was going on with Sam? Why did he let go of his gun? The elder Winchester didn’t even think clearly except for one mantra he had chanted to himself since he was a boy: _protectSammyprotectSammyprotectSammy._ And so he ran, taking Sam’s discarded gun on his arms, trying to keep his head in the game. “Sam!” And his aim was directed right at the body’s forehead.

Those wide pleading eyes finally fell shut, as the creature shook in something similar to relief. It probably wanted to die, Sam reasoned. Its like it already gave up. He kneels there still, unmoving, as realization sinks in. Of course, Dean probably thought he was somehow compromised by the creature that had gotten him not only in a vulnerable position but unarmed.

From the house, Bobby’s voice rose, “You alright, boys?” And Sam’s throat clenched in desperation. He was drowning, there was no way out. He had to protect him (it?). “Help me.” He stared into his brother’s eyes, begging silently for his aid.

“Don’t you see he is hurt? We have to help him Dean!” Sam said, strategically dragging his fingers lightly over his face and unto his neck, trying to feel a pulse. His skin was cold and clammy, his breath coming weakly from chapped lips. Was that drying blood under his eyes? It seemed surreal, but hell, Dean and Sam had seen their fair share of crazy. And Sam wasn’t going to just sit there with his arms crossed. Not when someone (something?) needed help, and from the looks of things, rather desperately.  “Help me carry him.”

“What? No. Hold up Sammy. How do we know if this…whatever this is goes all Vader on us when it wakes up? You gotta think this through.”

“He’s in pain, Dean. I know we will need to get him out of sight before Dad gets back, but let’s hope he’ll be awake by then. Now, lend me a hand.”

“I still don’t think this is anywhere near a good idea.”

“I know, Dean. But trust me in this one. Just go get the ashes.” The elder Winchester clenched his jaw but obeyed, bucket in hand, hurrying outside to erase the ashen marks of burnt out wings.

It takes Sam a few minutes to carry the body, dragging it along as the man (angel?) winced quietly, the door loud as it banged open. Shit. Bobby. He picked up the pace, uselessly trying to hide him from the gruff hunter.

 “What the hell, Sam?” Bobby asked, his eyes fixed on the younger Winchester, his shoulders tense, his hand on his pocket, fingering his sliver knife.

“I don’t know, Bobby. I just told Dean. He’s coming along.” Sam had a pretty good idea. There weren’t many supernatural creatures out there with halos and wings but...he was afraid Bobby would dismiss him outright if he said it. “He fell in the yard, ashes all around him. He seems battered and bruised, so I thought we could clean him up, help him get back on his feet?”

The older hunter kneeled before the motionless creature and took his arm, cutting a thin but deep line in his palm. The blood oozed lazily, droplets hitting the ground. Sam released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, letting out a shaky sigh of involuntary relief. Dean got back in that moment, giving Bobby a significant look. “Nothing?” He asked, lending the man his flask of holy water.  “Not yet.” Bobby uncapped it swiftly, tossing water right on his face. No reaction.

 “He looks like roadkill, if you ask me. Impressive that he’s still breathing. You patch him up or whatever you need to do. We can move him upstairs when he wakes up. For now, bring him in.” Bobby followed after Dean, and Sam just silently hoped his brother wouldn’t tell him exactly what their new guest was. Past tense. Because it looked like he had fallen hard and fast. What did that make him, exactly? Mortal, for one. Probably much weaker than he was before. Sam gave a small sigh and proceeded to delicately clean the dried blood on the man’s face.

He wore a tattered trenchcoat over a charcoal suit and white shirt. His blue tie was shredded and everything looked blackened and torn. Talk about a holy tax accountant get up, or something. He smiled lightly and as an after thought, he crossed the room, going to his duffel bag to pick out a pair of black sweats, a grey t-shirt and blue boxer briefs. Just so he could have a decent change of clothes after he took a bath.

After the stranger’s face was clean he lifted his torso a little, trying to get rid of the trenchcoat as he tried to imagine its original color under the ashes. The man had twin scars all across his back, the tissue red and angry but healed already, almost as if the procedure of his cuts had been surgical. He frowned and laid the remains of the coat on a nearby chair, as he put a blanket over the unconscious man.

He gasped as he felt strong fingers clutch his wrist tightly, with bruising, bone crushing force.

“Where am I?” His voice was low and gravelly, barely a broken whisper and Sam’s own caught in his throat as impossibly blue eyes stared at him intently.

“Its okay. You are safe here. You…fell.” Sam managed, trying to shake his wrist of the chokehold it was in, but no avail. “Please. You are hurting me.” He said, quietly, doing his best not to scare the man (creature?). “What’s your name? I’m Sam. Winchester.”  He said, quietly. He didn’t want to alert Dean or Bobby, not if his guest here behaved aggressively. After what probably happened to him, it was only logical.

Besides, things could get ugly if Dean thought Sam was in danger. He just stared back at him, wide eyed and silent, refusing to let go of his wrist, moving as little as possible. He seemed almost lethargic, like little thing was excruciatingly painful. Sam winced, but he endured the attack to his wrist stoically. “Let go of me.” He said, more serious this time, and finally the fingers reacted to the order, letting his arm go. The younger Winchester rubbed his wrist absentmindedly, trying to understand what kind of torture can cause a reaction like that. “Thank you.” He turned his back to the creature, his eyes finding Bobby, a gun pointing between those vibrant blue eyes.

“Easy there.” His father figure walked slowly, not lowering the weapon. “Sam, go grab a beer or something. Just make yourself scarce. I got this.”

The younger hunter clenched his hands, doubt noticeable on his face, before obeying hesitantly, walking out the door.

“I thought you wanted out, y’know.” Dean said, not meeting his eyes, handing him a beer. Sam shrugged, the irony of the situation hitting him with full force. “I thought so too.” The first swig did nothing for his nerves, his fingers tracing the reddened skin of his wrist.

“Just what is he?” Dean muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Bobby chose that moment to walk out, staring at Sam. “He is out of it now. Needs a bath like his life depends on it. But first things first, why the hell you pick him up?”

Sam felt his heart beating erratically in his chest, anxiety threatening to take over him. “We are supposed to help people.” He stated, convinced but his voice sounding somehow weak, roughened around the ages.

“He isn’t people, Sam.” Dean interjected, his fingers twitching around his beer restlessly.

“If that thing is staying here we better know for sure what it is. It could be dangerous.” Bobby explained, worry clouding his face.

“But he needs help. He is wounded, lost. Isn’t it what we do? Saving people?” Sam insisted, staring at his brother, trying to convince him.

“He isn’t human, Sam! We know that for sure.” The older Winchester looked wounded, guilt pooling in his chest. Why was Sammy so ready to leave him and John for Stanford, but so fierce in protecting this stranger? Maybe if he had been a better brother…he would have stayed. Silence stretched among them, tense and unyielding and Bobby just growled, annoyed, something that sounded a lot like “Balls.”

“Let’s go boys, back to business. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Both brothers knew the conversation wasn’t over but before Dean could utter anything Bobby raised his hand in dismissal. “Make yourself useful boy, and bring me the Grimorie from the basement. We’ll hunt ourselves some witches.”

Dean just nods and takes the escape Bobby offered, leaving Sam alone with the temptation to go back to the fallen angel (man?).

He caved, quietly entering the room and locking the door behind him, sitting on a chair beside the bed, eyes wandering over the stranger’s face with a longing he didn’t recognize.

“What’s your name?” He asked, secretly hoping the unfamiliar man would respond.

He wasn’t surprised when he received no answer.


	3. Chapter 2

The man (angel?) remained unconscious for days. Dean remained pissed by the matter, Sam was certain, but he didn’t bring it up. He just drank beer and glared at Sam from across the room, pretending to check the newspapers for possible jobs. Dean had always been the antsier of the two, never being able to stick around in one place for too long, and he probably wanted to get away as soon as possible, before he got too restless. 

“Idjits.” Bobby said, crossing through the door as he adjusted the baseball cap on his head. Sam nodded in acknowledgement at his arrival, and Dean just grunted gruffly, tossing back a gulp of beer. “Fucking witches.”  
“We good to go after them? Or we’re gonna wait for Dad to come back?” He pulled a beer out of the fridge and handed it to Bobby without even looking directly at his face.  
“Its not only witches, but we’re facing a whole covenant here. Not so far from here, in Iowa.” The older hunter handed him a newspaper clipping. “John will be back soon. I suggest you and him go after them; maybe I should go too. This is no way a one man hunt.” 

Silence reigned for a few minutes as Sam sought Bobby’s eyes for information on the status of their newly acquired stray. “Relax, Sam. I bathed the guy. He looked like a half burnt corpse and I couldn’t risk it. Jody can come over eventually and I don’t need more trouble than I already have. But yeah, he hasn’t moved an inch. Checked on the bastard this morning and nothing yet.” Sam sighed and Dean renewed his glare at him, stuffing one of his hands in his pocket. “I’ll call Dad, tell him about the hunt. Odds are he won’t pick up, but it won’t hurt to try, huh?” 

Some corner of Sam’s mind thought he should be pissed at Dean, pretending they didn’t have a comatose angel in the living room, but then again he’d been hiding behind lame jokes and fake smiles all his life. Sam loved his brother too much he could never blame him, but that didn’t make him any less of an idiot. “Maybe I should go with Dean, y’know, if your Daddy doesn’t pick up.” Bobby suggested, his tone somehow softer, letting show his worry for the boys he adopted as his own. “He can’t go alone. Its too dangerous.” Sam agreed quietly, the murmur of Dean’s voice next door flowing; no doubt leaving John a voicemail he would never reply to. 

“’Sides, I don’t think Sleeping Beauty here will wake up anytime soon. I dunno what happened to it, but I’m pretty sure it was traumatic. Think you can handle it?” Bobby downed one third of his beer like was nothing, studying Sam, quickly dropping his concerned, fatherly mode and back to his gruff demeanor after the younger Winchester gave him a cut nod. 

“Dad’s a no show again. Can’t say that I’m surprised but…” Dean started as he walks into the room, his expression casual but his eyes betraying the disappointment he always feels at John Winchester’s stubborn silence. “Still up for it? I think these old bones need to rattle a bit.” Bobby said and Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds good. I’m pretty sure Sammy here can take of himself while we are gone and read or something huh? You’re such a nerd.” 

Sam pulled a bitchface, but he brushed off the good-natured jibe and muttered, “Jerk.” Dean just chuckled and ruffled Sam’s hair as he calls him “Bitch.” Dean can’t help the warm feeling he gets when close to Sam, no matter how much they argue or how distant he has seemed lately. “Stow it, you morons. We got work to do. How ‘bout you make us a couple of hex bags?” He told Dean as he finished his beer and headed to the basement, coming back only minutes later with a couple of books on witchcraft and its lore. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning. Why don’t you go check on our new acquisition.” He said, sarcasm evident in the roughened edges of his voice. “I…guess I will.” Sam stood up, in one swift motion, stopping in the kitchen counter for a glass of water. If he (it?) was awake, he would probably be thirsty as hell. He walked distractedly towards the couch where he lay and he almost dropped the glass at seeing him, once more, awake.

“Holy shit.” He cursed, leaving the glass in a nearby table, holding both palms up as he signaled he meant no harm. “Uh, hey. Remember me? Its Sam. I brought you here.” Those wide blue eyes gained a pensive expression, as if his owner is trying to recall if the hunter is to be trusted, yet he remains stubbornly silent. Sam sighed and carded a hand through his hair, huffing awkwardly before reaching back to get the glass. “Here. You must be thirsty.” The creature appeared puzzled by the offer, but finally he took the glass from Sam’s hands with a quick movement, holding it near his chest without drinking from it. 

The younger Winchester took a second to observe the changes in the creature’s appearance: it looked surprisingly fragile in Sam’s big sweatpants and t-shirt, almost malnourished, like he was just recovering from a terrible illness. His face looked haggard and pale, and he seemed to be growing a beard, the stubble darkening his face and, ironically, bringing out his impossibly blue eyes. The creature didn’t move, he just appeared to want to disintegrate Sam with the focused intensity of his gaze, making him fidget uncomfortably, trying to think of a valid way to break the silence.

“It’s awake.” Sam’s gaze finally left those blue eyes to turn to Dean, who had his hand on his back, probably clutching at his gun. “Dean, we talked about this. He is no threat to us.” He walked slowly, announcing his course of action, but surely getting between his brother and the creature. “Dude, don’t show your back to it. What if its just waiting till you’re vulnerable?”  
“Dean.” He repeated, his name carrying the frustration he couldn’t voice, the argument he can’t have right then. The blue-eyed creature doesn’t even blink but his eyes go now from one brother to another, still cradling the glass close to his chest, as if afraid of losing it, his expression lacking any emotion.

“What’s its name? What’s your name?” Dean asked, refusing to let go of his gun handle, but hey, at least he wasn’t pointing it to the creature’s face again.  
Its face remained carefully blank, expressionless and motionless as the elder Winchester waited for an answer. Sam knew, somehow, it wouldn’t come anytime soon. He sighed quietly, wishing his brother had just a little more patience. “Drop it, Dean. You can’t just force him to answer like that. What if he doesn’t remember?” Sam tried to talk some sense into him, hating how he had to talk like the blue-eyed man wasn’t there.

“We need some way to call you, y’know? I don’t wanna go around just calling you dude. What are you, anyway? Mr. Comatose?” Dean insisted, lashing the gun in front of him, his face turned to a stony mask, mistrust curling his features.  
“Leave him alone, Dean.” He tried to calm his brother, shaking his head.  
“Are we picking up strays now, Sammy?” He lowered the gun slowly, as if he isn’t quite sure that’s what he should be doing, but he gave a Sam a look full of hurt and weariness. For Sam it was like a punch in the gut. 

“No, Dean but we couldn’t just let him die. We save people! It’s our job!” He emphasized the second part, knowing how important it is for Dean, for Dad. It is, after all, who they are.  
“Dad is going to have our asses for this, you know what, right? We don’t even know his name! Or what the hell he is!” He doesn’t let go of the gun, and he doesn’t look as angry now, he just looks exhausted, weary, ten years older than he really is.  
“But, Dean, you saw him. He was barely breathing! Maybe, after he recovers, he can give us some answers.” Sam reasoned, unconsciously pointing at the couch, where the creature was perched, still as a statue. During the entire exchange the creature appeared to be silently listening until it came around to sticking one finger in the water in his glass, taking it then to his chapped lips.  
“Man…” Dean shook his head, defeated, running a hand through his short, spiky hair. “Why do you even care about this John Doe?”

“I couldn’t just let him die.” Sam told him quietly, without meeting his eyes. He didn’t know why he was so fervent about it, but it was true nonetheless.  
“Look, dude, fine.” Dean said, tucking his gun back into his belt, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever you wanna do is fine, just don’t get me tangled in it. Deal?” It’s the most he can give, Sam knows, so he nodded slowly and smiled a little, relieved by the prospect of attaining his brother’s permission, even if he didn’t achieve getting his help. Dean wasted no time exiting the room, letting out an exasperated sigh as the door closed behind him.

The strange creature wasn’t drinking the water, but it was now continuously dipping his fingers in it and touching them to his lips. Sam found the gesture endlessly confusing, but it was better at least than its statuesque stillness.  
“Sorry about that. You know big brothers. A tad overprotective, but they always mean well.” Sam explained, pacing slowly till he got near the couch. “Don’t you wanna try drinking it?” He took one of the empty mugs laying around and showed him how, pretending to drink from it. “It’ll do you good. Aren’t you hungry? We probably have leftovers.” He still received no answer, so he sits on the floor, in front of him, trying not to feel defeated, but God, the situation seemed pretty fucking dire.  
“Look, man. I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I just wished you could…express yourself. I guess I’ll have to call you John Doe for now huh? You know that’s how people call someone with an unknown name? It doesn’t suit you, I know, and John reminds me of my Dad, but for now it’ll have to make do.” He stopped himself when he noticed he was rambling, sighing quietly before looking up and seeing the blue eyed, curious thing, drinking up the glass in tiny, quiet sips and he had to fight back the urge to laugh out loud in relief. So maybe, just maybe, his effort to reach this strange creature wasn’t going to waste.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Dean and Bobby out in a witchhunt, Sam has to take care of the strange creature on his own.

Mostly, he slept. It seemed like his body was completely worn out exhausted by an invisible sickness, the pain that seemed to hold his voice hostage. He tossed and turned, his uneven breathing the first sound Sam ever heard him make. Sam watched over him quietly, a book between his hands. Truth was, he couldn’t focus, not when he heard the blue eyed stranger gasping, prey to some terrible nightmare. He sighed and stood up in one swift motion, walking to the couch and shaking the creature by the shoulders a couple of times. “Whatever you are seeing, it isn’t real. Come on, wake up. It’s okay. I’m right here.” 

The man groaned, mumbling broken syllables under his breath, a language completely foreign to Sam, as he held him still, eyes fixed on his face, waiting for him to calm down. His breathing slowed periodically and he woke up then, inhaling sharply, pupils blown wide as he tried to get away from Sam. “Hey. It’s okay. It was just a dream.” The man’s arms shot up, latching on to his wrists, steadying himself. “Easy. There we go.” Sam helped him sit up and tried to get him to let go, but his expressive blue eyes were lit up with something similar to terror, his lips set on a firm, stern line.

“Okay, okay. I won’t leave just yet.” He lowered his arms, his palms resting on the other’s knees, wrists still held tight by the mysterious creature. “Promise. You can let go. And, when you’re ready I can go bring you water and something to eat. Would you like that?” His suggestion goes unanswered, but the vice grip on Sam’s wrists softened as well as the panicked expression on his face. “Yeah. That’s good. I’ll sit here beside you. It’s okay?” He nodded to himself and reopened his book, feeling the bizarre, intense stare over his shoulder. Sam couldn’t help but smile at the honest curiosity of his guest and stared back. “Can you talk? You don’t have to do it yet. I just wish I had a way to communicate with you. You can tap my shoulder once for yes, twice for no. Or maybe nod?” He tucked the bookmark in the pages and leaned on his knees, studying that perfect chiseled face. His expression was focused as if deciding if he should trust Sam with an answer. It took a few seconds but he nodded slowly once, then twice.

“Then you aren’t mute? That’s…good to know.” Sam chuckled nervously and ran a hand through his hair, feeling like an idiot. “How about we get you a name? I refuse to call you John. Maybe something similar. What do you think about James? Like 007. You sure could pull of the international spy, with those looks. God, now I’m rambling.” He laughed again, shaking his head, a light blush creping up his cheeks. The newly named man blinked twice, tilting his head slightly, confused. “So, James. Can I call you Jimmy? The full name seems a little formal.” Sam continued, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, eyes never leaving Jimmy’s. Once again he seemed to take a few seconds before he nodded once, painstakingly slow, his grave expression slightly softened, his eyes giving away something akin to fondness.

“Okay. We’re alone here Jimmy, Bobby and my brother Dean are out hunting some witches. I talked to them this morning, they will be back in a couple of days. But meanwhile, its just you and me. Before you woke up, I was studying. I want to be a lawyer. I know, it must seem weird for someone like me, son of a hunter and all, but truth is I want out. I have wanted out for as long as I can remember. So I’m…working. If I do well in these tests I may get a scholarship. Imagine that, going on to Stanford on a full ride?” He paused, his expression slightly dreamy as he pictured that possibility of a future before his eyes. “You’ll help me study, right?” Sam smiled widely now, his expression gentle. “But first of all you need to eat. Wait here, I’m pretty sure we have leftover sandwiches from last night.” Sam reassured Jimmy with a light touch on the shoulder before walking towards the kitchen, hurrying up because he didn’t want to alarm Jimmy, or leave him alone for too long.

It was odd, Jimmy appeared to inspire fierce loyalty in Sam, a protectiveness he had never felt before taking over him and filling him with unknown warmth. “Coming.” He announced his presence before entering the room, in hands one glass of water and a plate with two sandwiches. “It isn’t very glamourous I know, but I bet you’re hungry eh?” Sam joked quietly pulling over a chair and resting the food and drink in the side table, close to Jimmy. “You remember how to drink right? I saw you yesterday. You learnt. “ Jimmy moved silently and took the glass between his hands, downing one gulp with a satisfied groan. Sam took advantage of the moment to study his lips. They looked chapped and dry, and the boy wondered if his guest was aware that his body needed sustenance. Most of the time, he seemed oblivious of the fact. 

Sam was brought back to reality by a small tug on the sleeve of this shirt and his eyes rose back up to meet Jimmy’s baby blues, as the creature handed him back the empty glass, nudging him as he gave him a meaningful, intense look. “You…want more?” Jimmy nodded twice, his movements more jerky this time, unused to such human gestures. “Okay, Try the sandwiches. I’ll be right back.” Sam trotted back to the kitchen, refilling the tall water glass and halting in surprise as he stared at Jimmy, who was literally stuffing his mouth with the first sandwich, as if he had been starving for days. “Hey, Jimmy. Take it slow. Eat bite by bite or you might get sick.” Sam tried to stop him, but Jimmy ate eagerly, with the speed and carelessness only true hunger can ignite. “Nevermind. Just take enough water to wash it out. And if you get sick I won’t be cleaning up after you.” Sam said, grunting in disagreement. 

Jimmy didn’t mind, he downed the water after he was done with the sandwiches and for the first time since he was awake he seemed content, more relaxed, as if he was finally letting his guard down.

“You are one big mystery you know? I wish I knew…who are you? Where do you come from? And why…are you so silent? I’m pretty sure you aren’t human, at least not fully, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. I just…wish I could help you. Maybe get you back home. I’m sure someone’s worried out there, looking for you.” Sam fell silent, feeling silly for speaking his mind so freely, but somehow he felt compelled enough to fill the silence, to speak both for him and for Jimmy, who just have him a blank expression, but his deep blue eyes gave away his careful understanding. Jimmy held out a hand and he gave Sam’s a gentle squeeze. He looked repentant, opening his mouth hesitantly but no sound came out. Frustrated, he backed away, holding his knees up against his chest, arms draped around them as he let out a low grunt.

“Hey, dude, no pressure. I know you must be hurting. God knows you should have broken every bone after a fall like that. I’m just glad you are okay.” He laughs softly, shaking his head, embarrassed. “Look at me, I haven’t even stopped talking. It looks like I can talk for the both of us, huh? I bet you think I’m an idiot.” Sam covers his face with his hands, unable to stop smiling. “I just get lonely.” He admits, muttering, too ashamed to look at Jimmy’s eyes. Part of Sam wished they could comfort each other, with words and touch, but he was afraid that if he initiated a certain touch he could set Jimmy off. He didn’t think Jimmy was dangerous, but he was alone and it was way too risky.

“How about a movie? I bet you would like those artsy, foreign films no one understand. Unfortunately I don’t think we have anything like that,” He stood up, walking to the corner of the living room, crouching to take a look at the titles of Bobby’s film collection. There weren’t many options to choose from, but at least that way he could entertain Jimmy while he studied. He flicked the old VCR tapes, scrunching his nose at Dean’s (or worse, Bobby’s) porn and picked up one of he remembered from his childhood.

“How about The Last Unicorn? It was one of my favorites growing up. Dean teased me mercilessly for it, I remember. Its been years since I last saw it. You interested?” Sam handed him the box and let Jimmy toy with it for a minute, after he got one single nod. Sam fought the smile that crept up his lips as he kneeled by the VCR, slotting the tape and clicking play. “There you go. “ He tossed a blanket at Jimmy, who stared at it with wide, puzzled eyes, experimentally tugging at its edges. “That is a blanket. You use it to cover yourself up when you are at home. Like this.” He took it from Jimmy’s hands, covering his legs. Jimmy didn’t even acknowledged Sam’s words, he seemed to enthralled by the opening credits of the movie. Sam managed to stifle a laugh as he sat on a cushion by Jimmy’s feet, his book open before him, flipping quickly to his bookmark. 

They sat for the entirety of the film in companionable silence. Sam quietly passing pages as he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes and repeating the complicated terminology to himself, smiling lightly as he got a glimpse of Jimmy. Those striking blue eyes never seemed to leave the screen, he only moved to clutch one cushion between his eyes, his face curious and his focus intense. It was sort of endearing. 

Towards the end. Sam closed his book and stretched, rubbing his eyes tiredly before turning to Jimmy. “Mind if I sit here?” He asked, patting the seat beside him. He shook his head no, lifting the blanket so Sam could get in beside him, barely looking at Sam. Wow, he was pretty invested with the story. It made Sam think of a little kid, showing an innocence he never quite knew. After all, when Sam told his father he was afraid of the thing in the closet, he gave him a .45. Sam spent the rest of the movie staring at Jimmy, cataloguing his every reaction, no matter how small. When the credits rolled Jimmy finally turned around to look at Sam, his eyes bearing a strange, soft glow, almost eerie. 

Sam pulled the VCR out and back in its box, offering Jimmy a discreet smile. “You liked it?” He asked and Jimmy nodded, his lips curving upwards in a tiny grin. It didn’t look like much, but it was honest and Sam was only certain of one more thing: he wanted to see it more and more.

**Author's Note:**

> This is set before Season 1. Sam is studying to go to Stanford, Dean is hunting with John and starting to hunt by himself.
> 
> Feel free to send any feedback here or via my tumblr: backintheblackimpala.tumblr.com  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
